


A Sculpture Is Just a Painting Cut Out and Stood Up Somewhere

by AuthorOutOfTime



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Fluff, M/M, Painting, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, also probably at writing, author sucks at tagging, established relationships - Freeform, just a bit of kissing but better safe than sorry right?, rated T for teen because I mean there's nothing even remotely explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 17:39:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2701547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorOutOfTime/pseuds/AuthorOutOfTime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two times Steve painted on Bucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sculpture Is Just a Painting Cut Out and Stood Up Somewhere

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheMeaningofHaste](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMeaningofHaste/gifts).



> So my beta and I had a lovely skype date during which we watched 'London' because Chris Evans. We bet each other a fic that the main characters would end up together in the end, and it ends so frigging ambiguously that we declared it a tie. For the prompt: i need pre-serum or post catws stucky where Bucky is flopped on the bed shirtless and steve is next to him drawing and starts drawing on Bucky's back.

1936

“Whatcha doin’ Stevie?” Bucky asked lazily from the floor. He was lying on his stomach with his shirt off, reading the new book Steve got from the library. The Hobbit, it was called. It was holding his attention more than The Great Gatsby, which admittedly wasn’t all that hard. He didn’t like the pointless opulence in which the characters lived.

“Painting,” Steve replied, his brush moving deftly over the page.

“Whatcha paintin’?” He turned to look up at Steve. He had the best expression when he was working on something. His brow furrowed, the very tip of his tongue just poking out between his soft lips, Bucky suddenly forgot what he was reading and sat up.

“You,” Steve said simply.

“Lemme see?” Bucky asked. He leaned around the easel and found his back staring up at him. Maybe he needed a haircut, judging from the way it laid against the back of his neck in the drawing. Then he realized what Steve had done. “Aw, Steve, why did you waste your last page on me? I thought you wanted to go to the Bridge and do something from there.”

“It’s not a waste,” Steve muttered. He looked up at Bucky and frowned. “It’s never a waste, havin’ you as a subject.”

Why the hell did Steve always have to say things like that? “That’s not what I meant. Hey, I have an idea. You’re out of paper, right? Paint on me. It’ll wash off. Tomorrow, we’ll go get a roll of butcher paper.”

“We can’t do that, Buck. Rent’s due.”

“Nah, we’re good. Promise. Johnny O’Connor owes me a favor. Come draw on me.” Bucky settled back on the floor on his stomach. When Steve didn’t move, Bucky turned around and gave him a look. “What’sa matter, you little punk? You don’t have a problem touchin’ me in bed. You can’t do it now?”

“Bucky, ssshhh! What’s wrong with you? You know Mrs. Calvino’s home,” Steve chastised. He scowled at Bucky’s grin and knew it was a dare. He also knew he’d never back down from a challenge, so he put his moved from his easel and settled down on the floor beside Bucky.

“What’re you waitin’ for?” Bucky asked, settling himself a little more comfortably, resting his cheek on his folded hands.

“Dunno what to paint,” Steve said. He trailed one finger down Bucky’s spine, causing Bucky to shiver.

Bucky rolled over and tucked one hand under his head. His voice was soft and gentle, the same one he used when they were lying together in Steve’s bed and trying desperately to be quiet. “What’s wrong, Stevie?”

Steve shrugged. He wasn’t sure this was a good idea. What if someone saw Bucky’s back? What if he couldn’t scrub it all off? What if –

When Bucky sat up, his abs tightened, and Steve’s gaze didn’t go unnoticed. Bucky smirked and pulled Steve against him. “Come on, Stevie. Paint somethin’. No one’ll know. I’ll keep my shirt on at work if it won’t wash off.”

Steve allowed himself to be pulled in for a kiss for just a moment. “Okay, lay down again.”

“Bossy. You want me on my back or my stomach?”

“Stomach. If you’re on your back, you’ll distract me,” Steve said matter-of-factly.

Bucky laughed and settled back onto his stomach. “Am I that distracting?”

“Yes. Now hold still.” Steve straddled Bucky’s hips, dipped his paintbrush in white, and dragged it over Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky tensed; the paint was colder than he expected. It felt strange, but it was Steve on the other end of the brush, so it was okay, relaxing even. He watched out of the corner of his eye and it took everything he had to not say ‘to hell with it’ and drag Steve to bed. His expression was even better up close. Bucky could see how blue his eyes were, though they were steadily getting darker, and he realized that this was turning Steve on. He mulled that thought over for a moment, trying to decide whether or not to act on it.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have pained angel wings. Maybe it should have been devil’s horns,” Steve said conversationally as he moved to another area of Bucky’s back.

“What’cha talkin’ about? I’m just layin’ here,” Bucky said, affronted. He wasn’t _that_ transparent, was he?

“You’re lookin’ at me like you want to make a mess of all the hard work I’ve put into paintin’ Mrs. Calvino’s cat, who’s watchin’ us right now,” Steve said, gesturing with the paintbrush to the window. Sure enough, a fluffy orange cat was sitting on the fire escape, watching every move they made.

“Should we give her a show, Stevie?” Bucky asked, sitting up carefully.

“Bucky, come on. I’m almost done and I – ”

Bucky cut him off with a kiss. He knew Steve wouldn’t continue to protest much longer.

“Buck…” Steve said against his lips.

“Ssshhh,” Bucky hissed.

“But – ”

“Come on, Stevie, let’s go to bed,” Bucky murmured.

“Yeah… Yeah, okay,” Steve whispered against Bucky’s neck.

-Present Day-

Steve sat propped up against a bunch of pillows, the comforter pooling around his waist, and sketched. He had no idea what time it was, only that it wasn’t even close to morning. He’d been shocked awake by a nightmare. He couldn’t handle being cold any more than Bucky could, which explained why he was dreaming what he was dreaming. Bucky had, once again, turned himself into a Buckrito, wrapped so tight it was a miracle he could breathe.

Steve tried going back to sleep once he’d unwrapped Bucky, but he couldn’t. He quietly asked Jarvis to turn up the lights just a little so he could see, grabbed his sketchbook and a pencil and began to draw. He hadn’t intended to begin drawing Bucky, but he’d kicked the blankets off, and well, if he was going to bare it, Steve was going to sketch it. He was gently shading in the dip of Bucky’s spine when he stirred.

“Timeisit?” he muttered.

“Dunno,” Steve said, laying a hand on Bucky’s back. “Go back to sleep.”

“Why’re you awake?” Bucky asked, squinting up at him.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Steve said.

“Nightmare?” Bucky rolled onto his side and dropped his arm over Steve’s lap, dislodging the sketchbook. “It was a nightmare, wasn’t it? You’re drawing.”

“Yeah, it was, and yeah I am. And now my subject has moved his ass and I can’t finish it,” Steve said, setting the sketchbook aside in favor of settling down beside Bucky and kissing him lightly.

“There was a time when you’d have painted on my ass if you asked me to,” Bucky said.

“I did once. Or not your ass but your – ”

“Back. You painted on my back because you ran out of paper, didn’t you? We were just kids.” Bucky closed his eyes, his face scrunching up as he struggled to remember.

“Yeah, Buck. It wasn’t long after we – ”

“Started makin’ fondue?” Bucky asked with a grin.

Steve rolled his eyes and sighed. “I could live to be a hundred – ”

“Just a couple more years, punk,” Bucky teased, kissing Steve’s jaw.

“And I’ll never live down fondue, will I?” Steve asked as if Bucky hadn’t interrupted him.

“Nope.” Bucky was silent for a moment, mulling over an idea that was slowly forming. “Hey Stevie?”

Steve was busy nuzzling Bucky’s collar bone. “Hmm?”

“You think you might wanna paint on me again?” Bucky asked softly.

Steve looked up, his brow furrowed. “You want me to paint on you?”

“On… Well, on this.” He held up his metal arm and glanced at it with distaste. “I hate it, and Stark said the new one won’t be ready for a few days. I just thought maybe you could have some fun with it before it’s gone. Maybe paint over that damned red star.”

“Yeah, sure, if that’s what you want. Do you, uh, do you remember what happened last time we did this?” Steve asked as he left the bed to grab some paint and a brush from the corner where he sometimes painted.

“No, but if you were as naked then as you are now, I can probably guess,” Bucky said, staring appreciatively at Steve’s body as he walked away, and again as he walked back.

Steve smiled as he sat down. “I’m going to paint over the star with silver, okay?”

“Whatever you say, Cap. I’m just the canvass.” Bucky stuck his arm out and wrapped his fingers loosely around Steve’s ankle.

Steve painted over the star, hoping that it would dry a slightly different shade. “It’s not a perfect match, but it’ll do. What do you want instead of the star?”

Bucky shrugged. He didn’t care what it was as long as it wasn’t Hydra’s stamp of ownership. He noted Steve’s nod, but couldn’t be bothered to look down and see what he was up to. Bucky knew he wouldn’t do anything inappropriate, although there was a time when Bucky would have feared a dick being painted on his arm. Steve Rogers was a little shit, no matter whether he was 5’4” and ninety pounds soaking wet or 6’ and 190 pounds, and no one knew that better than Bucky, even if he was still regaining lost memories daily.

Bucky had no idea how long he laid there, letting Steve do whatever he wanted, but eventually Steve leaned down, pursed his lips, and blew lightly, helping the paint to dry faster.

“Whataya think?” Steve asked, sitting back and admiring his handy work.

Bucky looked down and smiled. Steve had given him a wing, just like the one he’d worn on his blue peacoat all those years ago, just like the one on Steve’s cowl.

“What’s it say under it? _Nunquam Obliti, Nunquam….Vi…Victi_. Stevie, you put the Howling Commandos motto on it?” Suddenly, Bucky’s throat felt tight with emotion and he was blinking back tears.

“Oh, hey, Buck, I’m sorry,” Steve said, scrambling to move things out of his way so he could wrap Bucky in a hug.

“No, it’s fine. I just remembered it. Thank you,” he muttered into Steve’s chest. “Thank you so much, Stevie.”

“Any time, Buck. Hey, c’mere. Whataya say we try to jog your memory about the last time I painted on you?” Steve asked, laying down next time him.

“I think I’d like that a lot,” Bucky said, pulling Steve close.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you for taking the time to read this! It's sort of unbeta'd, so ALL MISTAKES ARE MINE.
> 
> Also, as always, come hang on with me on tumblr at blackcamouflagewarpaint.tumblr.com and cry about these two big old super soldier goobers.


End file.
